


All our bruised bodies.

by burritocereno, cavalreapers



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Odd Pairing, rp inspired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-10 15:26:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1161322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burritocereno/pseuds/burritocereno, https://archiveofourown.org/users/cavalreapers/pseuds/cavalreapers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Levi feels like he can’t breathe for a few moments even after that, and he doesn’t want to let him take the book back.</p>
<p>But Moblit wants to fill the pages with them, more, under the influence of Levi’s exposition. He takes it back and props it, holding his pencil.</p>
<p>“Tell me about them. The little things.”</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Post expedition; Levi grieving the loss of his squad with Moblit's help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All our bruised bodies.

**Author's Note:**

> So, the co-author listed is a really good friend of mine. I play the Levi to her Moblit in an AU RP that I mention all the time; it just so happened that when discussing canon Moblev, her headcanons about Moblit sketching the deceased was enough to inspire me into this.
> 
> FYI, Liam is the name I gave goggles-kun, and Raakkel is the cutie pie with dark hair; they're both in Hange's squad.

There’s notebooks filled of Moblit’s sketches. Dozens of them, in the trunk at the foot of his bed. Papers litter the floor when he gets too busy and flighty to clean up after himself - notes, drawings, letters. This is often enough to make Keiji scowl and bark at him to look after himself. Then Liam will drop from his bunk and grin, looking at the mess on the floor.

“Yeah. Think of what your boyfriend would say if he had the guts to mingle with gen pop.”

“H-he’s, he’s not … Quite …”

“Save it for the Generalissimo, man.”

So then he’ll keep Levi in mind and pick up the loose papers.

Its come to be that when he’s not needed, by Hange or humanity or anyone else, he sets forth in a mission he’s had since his trainee days.

The books that few others see - barring Lieutenant Hange and his own squad - are filled with portraits of the deceased. Moblit takes care to render them as best he can, in pencil and ink. Charcoal is too messy. Charcoal will smudge. These portraits are so important to him, that whenever he sets forth to do another, he’ll forget to eat or sleep.

Getting down every last detail of the departed while everything is clear in his mind is what matters. Their face; the way they carried themself; the way their hair hung in their face and they couldn’t get it to sit back, or those little lines that showed near their eyes during a rare smile like the sun peeking out of clouds. There will be sketches showcasing the little details. 

The important details.

Notes beside them. Name, birthday, favorite color, little facts, hometown.

He flips through these and vows to never forget.

Moblit felt brave enough to show Lance Corporal once, during a late night meeting in his quarters. Bereft of straps and gear and duty, temporarily; candle light, sitting together at his desk.

Levi flipped through those pages with reverence, brushed his hair back and took a long time on each page. Some of them he knew. Some he didn’t. Among them were more sketches still, of even the living. Mike, Hange, Irvin, Keiji, Raakkel, Liam; some trainees. Those rookies weren’t laid down as darkly, as surely as the others had been. Moblit hadn’t gotten to know them.

In time, they’d be ink.

Closer to the end of the book, there were sketches of Levi himself. Odd sketches, ones he wouldn’t expect. A few of him smiling; one with eyes closed in sleep and one even in bliss. When Levi got to that one he turned to Moblit, his face turning red in embarrassment. But he grinned, tapping one at the bottom. Levi sticking his tongue out. That had been a good day.

“Sides of you not many get to see.”

“Is this an ass - backward attempt to get me in bed? Being sweet?” he asked, stiffly.

“Not at all! I … Just … These are important to me, i-is all.”

Levi’s eyes had softened and he turned his gaze back on the paper.

“These are important, Moblit.” he murmured, sotto, and then nearly to himself, “Remembering and honoring is all we can do. … You should show these to Irvin.”

“Ah, I’m not sure Commander has time for these, Levi.”

He smiled. Levi didn’t; he worked a hand into Moblit’s hair and felt him relax at the touch. With one last glance towards the sketchbook on the desk, he rose from his chair and blew out the candle. Wisps of smoke curled into the air that smelled like tea and soap, and Moblit only wished he could put that on paper, too.

“Its your call.” and he strode to his bed, pulling back the covers, “Come.”

*

The disaster that is the 57th expedition beyond the walls didn’t truly calm down. There are body counts to be made and families to inform and losses to consider. Not to mention the fact that Irvin would be held responsible. And the matter of the Female Titan still running …

It shouldn’t be like this.

News reached Moblit of Levi’s injury. That hits hard.

But the news of his squad dying in the line of duty … That hits _harder_. It anchors him to the spot. He can’t even imagine losing those closest to him, especially those that were considered the best of the best. Its a loss for Levi, for the Scouting Legion, for their families, and for humanity. What hope have they, now … ?

Before the door to his room, he tries to consider what sort of mood he’d be in.

As he knocks and enters, Levi sits on the bed and stares out of the window.

“Major Baner.”

_Ah_.

“Levi … Er, Lance Corporal, sir.”

He taps out a quick salute even though Levi isn’t even looking at him. He’s under the covers and looks the same as ever; but his countenance is back to icy and impartial and Lance Corporal. Back to humanity’s strongest soldier, back to an untouchable and perfect fighter. Nothing more.

But, no, that’s not the Levi he’d come to know. Its a big part of him, yes, but not the biggest. Levi is kill counts and he is leadership and he’s his past and he is working towards humanity’s future. But he’s also sleepy smiles and pulling hair and snarky jokes at four in the morning. He’s the way he drinks his tea and the way he’s unapologetic in his snark and especially his bite.

“How’s your leg? … Sir.”

Levi shifts and stares at the blanket.

“Torn meniscus, Major. Bad enough to put me in bed like a fucking child, apparently.”

Moblit is not brave enough to ask about his squad. He lets it die in his chest, snuffed like a candle.

He hadn’t known them well. Not like Levi had.

But he had known Petra’s compassion, Auruo’s bravado, Erd’s vivacity and Gunther’s kindness. Their senses of duty, their skill.

It keeps him up all night, when he leaves.

He draws them.

He tries to get them just right, tries to put everything down on paper. 

Auruo Bossard; elite soldier, older brother, as bravehearted as he was - _is_ , dammit, _is_ \- a braggart. Laugh lines like someone older and wiser, and maybe he had that potential, too, underneath his carefully crafted facade. 

Moblit makes sure he gets the laugh lines just right, the upwards arch of his eyebrows that screams indifference and derision, but belies the way he’d look at Levi or Petra or Erd or Gunther. Even Eren.

Petra Ral; handpicked for Levi’s squad, maternal and kind and amber - eyed. She’d glow and smile or bristle and smolder, switching at the drop of a hat. He’d heard her laugh and scream in turn, bickering with her comrades but giving her superiors and humanity in turn her all.

She had tucked her hair behind her ear and smiled, laughing when Erd presented her with a flower during downtime. He draws that, the iris in her hands and mirth in her eyes.

Gunther Shulz; kills and assists, duty above all else. He’s more serious than the others, maybe even paternal to match Petra, and fierce besides. Diligence, how does one mark diligence? Had he been so throughout all his years? Moblit traces the curve of his jaw onto paper, nearly frantic in his effort to get him down.

Erd Gin; nearly skittish at some points, but who could blame him? Under the right circumstances and the right phase of the moon with the right kind of vine, he’d let his hair loose and sing folksongs. The sketch he puts down is that, Erd’s face in mid laughter and his hair shaken about his shoulders.

They’re good.

He got them out, got them saved. Moblit looks them over and over again and shuts the book and practically runs to Levi’s room. Its supposed to be lights out, but who really sleeps anyway? Especially after an expedition.

Levi had been cold earlier, yes, but … He needs to see these. Moblit needs him to see these.

He knocks and enters and Levi has moved to his desk. He stares murder into Moblit for a split second, until he sees how frantic he is. Until he sees the sketch book.

“P-pardon my intrusion, Levi. Sir. Sorry.”

“What is it, Moblit.”

His words are thick with exasperation, with exhaustion, but the fact that he hasn’t called him Major Baner or reprimanded him is … Its a chance.

“I … I drew your squad,” he says breathlessly, “I wanted to get them right before … I forgot. But I want you t-to tell me about them. I want to draw them again.”

Moblit slaps the book down on his desk and its the only sound for several beats. One. Two. Three. Levi’s heart stutters in his chest. Four. He should have expected this. Five. He opens the book.

_Oh, six_.

There’s Auruo, snark plain on his face with adoration softening his eyes; there’s Petra, genuine delight over her comrade gifting her with a flower; there’s Gunther, determination setting his jaw; there’s Erd, scarce laughter and even scarcer song.

For a few more beats still, he’s hit with emotion like waves, over and over and five times fucking over, and he doesn’t know how to swim.

_Ground yourself. Breathe_.

The shape of joy in Petra’s mouth is exactly right. He’d done a good job with all of these. Levi feels like he can’t breathe for a few moments even after that, and he doesn’t want to let him take the book back.

But Moblit wants to fill the pages with them, more, under the influence of Levi’s exposition. He takes it back and props it, holding his pencil.

“Tell me about them. The little things.”

Levi doesn’t cry, and he hasn’t in a while, but the iron band around his throat numbs him and burns him and he speaks past it.

He tells Moblit everything. How he had to teach Auruo to tie his jabot right, how he nearly pissed himself because he was touching him. How Petra had a scar on her left temple from her first expedition, and how she told lame jokes and couldn’t get through them without laughing. He tells Moblit about Erd’s penchant for flirting and how he could roll his R’s for days but couldn’t roll his tongue. He tells him about Gunther’s love for architecture and how he wasn’t a morning person at all, but how Erd would sing to him to get him to wake up.

At times he stops and pauses to breathe.

The final sketch is Moblit pouring their memories onto paper. Ink. Names, kill counts, ‘proud elite soldier of Levi’s Squad’. He leaves out the pallor of death and sheets over their eyes.

The final sketch is the four of them, flanked by Levi and Eren, the survivors. Bereft of their cloaks but in their full uniforms, parade rest.

Levi sleeps better that night than he thought he would. Moblit, in his own room with his squad mates sleeping, puts them on paper too, until the sun comes up. Keiji, Raakkel, Liam, Hange. More of the rookies. Irvin and Mike and Nanaba and Gerger and Henning and Rene. 

Lest he forget.


End file.
